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Weekly Short Story Contests > Week 56 - (October 15th-22nd) Stories --- Topic: Apples DONE

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message 1: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments Alex, I'm shocked, simply shocked! A Glock. A cold-blooded killer. An attempted murder, viewed (until the shift in perspective at the end) through the perpetrator's eyes.

This was great! I finished it in what seemed a snap of the fingers and wished it were longer.


message 2: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments lol, I haven't read it yet but I will.


message 3: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 199 comments Great story Alex. Very well written. Full of suspense.


message 4: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) wow.... cool.... im writing one, but it's COMPLETELY different...


message 5: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ;D haha... ya... im either writing a creepy vampireish one or one about apple computers ;D


message 6: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments People who are in touch with their dark side are interesting. Everyone has a dark side, but most people pretend they don't.


message 7: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 199 comments You're going to think I'm really, really boring then, M.
I don't hate people, I don't have a mean streak, I don't get jealous. Another writing competition required people to write a monologue. I was thinking about entering, then I noticed the requirement that it had to be about revenge, so then I gave up. How could I write about revenge? I avoid movies which contain gratuitous violence. I'm not pretending. I don't like cruelty. I am curious about disasters and want to know what happened, but I don't think that would fit anybody's definition of a dark side. Or perhaps some of the teasing comments that I make from time to time...but those are only in jest. So, I'd better stop before you fall asleep with boredom, I guess. What do you think, M?


message 8: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments There's a difference between being mean and having a dark side. Your dark side is everything about you that's been pushed into your unconscious because it doesn't fit with your self image. If you think of yourself as a giving person, you shove your avariciousness down into the dark, where you can't see it. Then you can deny it's there.

What's in the dark tends to jump out when you don't expect it, and you find yourself compulsively hoarding or trying to control other people, or any number of acts after which you shake your head in bewilderment and say, "Was that really me? That's not the sort of thing I would do at all!" It is you, of course, the other you. Jungians call it your shadow. That's all I meant.


message 9: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) I DEFINATLY have a dark side... i just try to hide it the best i can, like you said M, but i show it in my writing... mainly only short stories though, that's why ive been really angry lately, because i haven't writen in a while


message 10: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments Writing is wonderful, isn't it? It's salve for the soul! In the real world, writing is the closest thing there is to magic.


message 11: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) i know, when you write you can make anything happen, that's why i mainly write fantasy's


message 12: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 199 comments I am a bit of a hoarder, I hate to part with my books. I have so many clothes in my wardrobe that if they come off the hanger, they don't fall to the ground...they're held in place by all the others. I keep old letters. I have more than a hundred recipe books. I collect stamps.
So....Analyse That!


message 13: by M (last edited Oct 16, 2010 08:28AM) (new)

M | 11392 comments I've been trying to decide what to write for this week's story competition. I could tell some funny stories about apples. Dad used to make apple cider and apple wine. When I was in about the fifth grade, one day after school a friend of mine asked me what was in a barrel that was up on a stand in the garage. I told him, "That some of Dad's stuff that went bad." We fetched some glasses and tried it, and it was awful! The more we tried, though, the better it got. I think it must have made us sick. Mom was recounting it to some friends of hers not long ago.

I think I may try a horror story. It's the right time of year for one. Have you gotten any ideas yet?


message 14: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) uhhh... i dunno... but somehow my story got from being a random vampireish story thing into a deep soul story ;D haha it's all ur fault! ;D i personally think its one of the best things ive ever writen... i dunno about u though


message 15: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments Jan, I thought it was dix heures over there in Australie, and you were sound asleep!


message 16: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 199 comments Idea generator:
1. Snow White bites the apple, and the poison turns her into Snow Black...an evil princess.
2.William Tell fires back.
3. A child bites into an apple and accidentally eats a worm, which remains alive inside him. By day, he's the same as he always was, a little shy. But by night.....
4. A man is eating an apple, and somehow the taste of it takes him back twenty years to a time when he was apple-picking and met a beautiful girl who....
5. A magic apple, which when eaten, allows you to temporarily see into the minds of other people...but you need another apple and they are being guarded by a fierce...
6.The big apple...set in New York, a young man full of dreams....
7.Apple Mac. A boy falls asleep playing a computer game and finds himself in a virtual world. Now he must discover how to get out. But there is danger at every turn....
I'm falling asleep now, goodnight everyone. Use the ideas if you wish.


message 17: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) snow black? interesting.... i have no idea who william tell is third one's cool so is the fifth and six the last one seems more of a novel, g'night jan haha it's noon here


message 18: by Esther (last edited Oct 16, 2010 08:55AM) (new)

Esther (essie7198) haha... this story was originally supposed to be like 400 words ;D
Name: What Is Real
By Esther
Word Count: 1055

I watched the juice dribble down her, i mean it’s, face. It completely disgusted me. When sh-it,(not meant to be a bad word, i just realized that a few hours after i wrote it) saw me staring at it smiled. “You know what this apple is?”

I remained silent.

It held the apple up to the small light that barely shone through the one hole above us. “This apple, is what I’m going to do to you.” It smiled wickedly. I pulled at my bonds, with no result.

“I thought you would have known by now,” It said shaking it’s head, “There’s no way to get out. And even if you do, where can you go where I won’t find you? You don’t exactly... blend in with normal people anymore.” The mark on my face continued to throb. It saw me wince and laughed at my pain. It gripped the apple harder until juice was flowing onto the ground. She put her other hand under it and caught the juice.

“This, is your blood.” It said and brought her hand up to it’s mouth and drank it. I turned away, quivering. It’s head lifted in pride, not wiping that stray drip that was falling down its chin. It walked closer and traced the mark going from my eye down to the side of my chin. “It’s sad that no one is going to see you like this, weak and useless.” It quickly turned my face with the same finger tracing the mark.

My breathing was hollow.

“You still refuse to talk? Fine, it’s your choice.”

Anger raged inside me. “Just kill me already!” I shouted.

It cackled. “Ah, so the human talks!”

“I’m not going to satisfy you with that.” It said before turning away.

“Hey! Come back! Don’t just turn on me! Am I not worth killing?”

It stopped and peered over it’s shoulder. “No, you’re not. What you are worth is letting you wonder whether or not I’m real. Slowly going insane from the thought of me.” She walked away.

“Come back!” I continued to scream and shout, as I slowly started to black out.

*****

“Uhgg...” I woke up rubbing my temples. I looked around, I was in my room again, same faded blue paint, same small mirror hanging on the wall. “So... it was all a dream...” I walked up to it and almost screamed when I saw the mark on my face. In shock, i traced it with my fingertip. I turned and saw a newspaper on the dresser. I skimmed it.

Missing Girl Found

19 year old Julia Hendricks has been missing for five months. She was found in a sewer, tied up and passed out. The chair she was tied to was tilted over. She stayed in a coma for a week and the doctors said she would be having memory loss and possibly illusions. She was most likely kidnapped and tied there, the person who kidnapped her is suspected to be female, but it is unknown. There are no traces of her, but Julia’s family is just glad to have her back.

“She’s been gone for so long! I can’t believe she’s finally back!” Her mother said next to Julia’s hospital bed.

“It’s quite strange actually, I’m glad to have my lil sis back and all, but she keeps mumbling things. She yelled ‘Come back!’ at least fifty times and something about apple juice. I guess she’s just thirsty or something.” Her older brother said.

The long scar on her face is suspected from falling over in the chair on pieces of a broken glass from the window above where they found her. It had broken and was probably her kidnappers mean of escape. The police are continuing to search for her.




She put the newspaper down, Was it real or not?



************



50 Years Later

“Miss Hendricks?”

I turned. “Yes?”

“It’s time for your medicine.” The nurse said.

“Yes... yes. Give it here.” She placed a cup in my hand and i drank it down quickly. I had been here for 40 years, I knew how it worked.

“It’s real you know. Tied me up and all, said that she was going to kill me, just like Mr. Apple!” I said giggling. I was loosing it, big time.

“Of course ma’m.” All the workers had learned to go along with it.

“Natasha?” I said as she was about to walk out.

“Yes Miss. Hendricks?”

I sighed. “I think I’m ready to go.”

She nodded. “Okay, let’s go on your walk now.” She wheeled me outside.

“Can, you leave me alone for a while?”

“Of course Miss Hendricks.” I sat there staring at the tree’s rustling above me.

It was right, I’m going insane... I closed my eyes. I’m ready to go. My breathing slowed and I let it all go, Goodbye world, I can truthfully say I will not miss you.... And I stopped breathing, I was dead. Finally, sweet freedom...

“Not quite, ‘Miss Hendricks’.” I opened my eyes to realize I was still alive.

“What-?”

“You’re not dying yet Julia.” It was here, it had found me. It held the rigid knife.

“If you’re going to die, I’m going to be the reason.” It smiled. “But first,” She took an apple out of her pocket. “Goodbye.” It ripped the knife down the side that wasn’t scared. I tried to scream, but no sound came out of my mouth. She put her finger down the new mark and brought it up to her face, it was covered in blood and she licked it. “Mmm... the sweet taste of revenge.”

“What have I ever done to you?” I croaked.

“You’re his daughter.” She took the knife and jabbed it through my heart. I gasped, before dying. As I felt my spirit finally being lifted I looked down at my mortal body. An apple was lightly laid on my lap and I saw Natasha running towards me.

“Miss Hendricks? Miss Hendricks!” The new mark on my face was gone, and there was no blood, just that red apple on my lap, the only evidence of it ever being there. And even in my death, I questioned whether or not the creature was real.


message 19: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ya, i mean, sometimes its just fun writing that kind of stuff


message 20: by M (last edited Oct 16, 2010 09:29AM) (new)

M | 11392 comments Good writing, Esther! I could visualize the action easily. Julia couldn't have tied herself up in the chair, so we know something other than Julia has done this to her. At first Julia thinks of it as a woman, then corrects herself: it clearly isn't human. In the final scene, when the new cut and all traces of blood disappear, we know that, whatever the creature is, it isn't mortal.


message 21: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) thank you


message 22: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) haha thanks


message 23: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) haha ya, my type of stories you have to read through a lot to get it


message 24: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments All this talke about people having dark sides- you're poisoning them, M. hahahaha Or perhaps you're prepping them for Halloween. Speaking of which, I have no idea what I'm doing for it...


message 25: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments Your writing's so natural and realistic, Stephanie, that whatever you do will have an almost documentary quality to it. I've been lazy. I had planned to get started on a story this morning but piddled instead.


message 26: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) haha, well M sorta inspired when with all the dark side talk.... i wasn't going to do the fifty years later thing at first


message 27: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments The second half offers some clues as to what might be going on. Julia asks the creature, “What have I ever done to you?” The response is, “You’re his daughter.”

I was reminded a Sigourney Weaver movie called Snow White.


message 28: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) really? never seen it, thanks... i was trying to add a mystery to it on the 'his daughter' part


message 29: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments I don't recommend Snow White. It's sappy and way overdone. Weaver starred in a good sci-fi movie, called Alien. I recommend that one!


message 30: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) cool, i luv scifi


message 31: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 199 comments The animated Disney Snow White was actually pretty dark!
Pretty scary for little kiddies!


message 32: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments Hi, Jan! Did you sleep well?


message 33: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) haha, my generation came along after all the good movies, now there's those weird ones....


message 34: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments Not long ago I watched one called Close Your Eyes. It got so tense and scary that I paused the DVD player and walked outside for sunshine and fresh air before I ventured back in to brave the rest of it.


message 35: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) haha.... i think ive heard of that


message 36: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 199 comments M wrote: "Hi, Jan! Did you sleep well?"
Yes and now time to sleep again. (M, you missed something in L&G..in Suz Serendipitous Stirrings)


message 37: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments Thanks, Jan. I'll go check.


message 38: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments M wrote: "Your writing's so natural and realistic, Stephanie, that whatever you do will have an almost documentary quality to it. I've been lazy. I had planned to get started on a story this morning but pidd..."

*gets ready to blush* Why thank you, M! I'm glad you enjoy it!

So, I'll be back at my usual time, guys, I finished The Lost Hero so it won't be taking up all my time, haha. I'll write a story for the contest today, or try to at least. I have still to finish editing my novel...*sigh*


message 39: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments The Apple's Fruit

by Stephanie


A crisp crunch sounded at Derik placed his foot onto the frosted, pale-green grass. His breath steamed in the air and his outer extremities- nose, ears, hands, and cheeks- were all a blistering red. He scanned the large area until he spotted what he was after. Blood was stained the ground; next to it, laid the body of a man. His face was down, buried in the dirt.

Derik briskly made his way through the quiet, seemingly deserted town. A tavern wasn’t too far from where he stood, ten yards at most. He knelt next to the man; he was dead. The ground had completely absorbed the pool of blood that had been there a few hours before. The dead man’s neck lay at an odd angle, twisted in a way it shouldn’t be. There was no doubt— his neck had been snapped— he had died instantly. Several long gashes, rimmed with a purple substance, marked one side of his neck. Derik looked on, grimly; the man hadn’t been spared a painful death.

Two or three yards away, a woman’s body lay on the ground. An expression of shock to forever dominate her face, her mouth open as if she had been in the middle of screaming when her moment had arrived. Her eyes held a betrayed look, asking what she had done wrong.

Derik stood up and walked away. Soon, he allowed the tavern door to swing open with a loud bang. He walked into the warm room and calmly took in the scene. A feeling of utter helplessness colored the room. The men and woman looked away and continued to do whatever they had been before Derik’s disruption.

“May I help you?” a small, young serving girl asked him as he moved towards the bar.

“Perhaps,” he paused. “I need to speak to the tavern’s keeper.” His eyes raked over her, just to make sure she was safe.

As if she knew the reason behind his scrutiny, the girl backed away. “I may have been here last night but I ran along with everyone else.”

“Leave her alone,” a gruff voice interrupted from behind the bar. “She’s not an Ablon.”

“Never too late to be wrong,” Derik answered but looked away from the girl, satisfied that the tavern keeper was correct.

“I assume the Ablon is the reason you’re here.”

“It is. It killed someone last night.”

“I suppose you’re speaking of the gentleman in the street.”

“I am.”

“He challenged her first,” the tavern keeper defended.

“Her? Do you want Ablons in your bar every night, sir?” Derik wondered.

“No; that’s why I would prefer it if you would leave. Every time you people come, the Ablons aren’t far behind.”

“Yeah,” a voice from somewhere in the tavern agreed.

“It’s a classic setup,” a woman said from behind. “You hunters arrive, and Ablons follow. One of you is no match for one of them.”

“Who says I’m alone?” Derik responded as he turned to the woman. She couldn’t have been over thirty.

“I don’t see anyone with you.”

“If I told you I had someone with me, then I would be dooming any plan I had.” He took an apple from a bowl on the bar and bit into it. He seated himself on one of the tall stools, prepared to counter any objections.

“Do you know that story of the apple’s fruit?” an old woman asked from one of the tables by the bar.

Derik rolled his eyes. “Such a superstitious bunch,” he muttered.

“Just like an apple only bears an apple, the intent to kill, will only bread violence and returning desire to kill. Hunting the Ablons is foolish.”

“Only because you believe your stories,” Derik replied, rolling his eyes again.

“You are seeking to kill the Ablons, even when they are your own scourge,” the woman spat. “It’s your forefathers fault.”

“And I am trying to rectify their wrongs.” Derik’s face became red.

“You are a prideful family. You know what you must do. It’s a small, simple act, but you see it below yourself. Your pride and arrogance will kill us all.” The woman stood up and walked away. “It will be the cause of your death,” she whispered before she slammed the door behind her.

Derik put a hand to his throat and coughed, once, twice. Then, the coughs started racking his body. Pain flustered under his skin in his esophagus. It traveled through his chest then into his abdomen. His hands turned pale. Suddenly, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell, facedown, to the floor.

Garrett walked out of the shadows in the upper right corner of the tavern. He picked Derik’s apple up and tossed it into the air then caught it. “Does anyone share our friend’s feelings?” he asked cheerfully.

The tavern was silent. “Good,” Garrett said easily. “Good.” He tossed the apple into the garbage and strode out of the building.

Every person’s eyes followed the Ablon out of the room. A mental, collective sigh released itself and the room didn’t seem so cold and distasteful anymore.


message 40: by Stephanie (last edited Oct 18, 2010 11:05AM) (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments Wow, Alex and Esther. You guys did really good. Interesting, Esther. And nice ending, Alex.

Besides a few punctutaion errors I didn't see anything grammatically wrong with your stories guys. I really enjoyed them both a lit.


message 41: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments lol


message 42: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments I didn't expect that ending! The narrative flows well. It reads fast. I couldn't help but wonder why the Ablon had killed the man and woman in the street.

The description is taut and vivid. Derik looked on, grimly; the man hadn’t been spared a painful death. This is good writing.


message 43: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments Thank you for reading! I hate it when people drag things on, haha, the only time I drag things on is when I'm trying to make it suspenseful. Of course, that's when the details matter the most. Was it too fast?

Well, this idea orginates from an earlier short story I wrote about a month or two ago. It's called Immortal Terror. It's on my profile, that is, if you want to know why the Ablon killed the man and the woman. *shrugs* It's up to you.


message 44: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments I didn't think your story read too fast. I'm with you on stories that drag. I don't read easily, and I'm always grateful for writing that doesn't bog down. Mine are the worst! The one I'm working on for this week is like verbal Sominex.

I'll read Immortal Terror! I never know whether going to other members' profiles and reading their stories is okay to do.


message 45: by Stephanie (last edited Oct 18, 2010 02:39PM) (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments Good, good. Haha, you can read whatever I've posted. That's what it's there for. I love it when people rate my stories.


message 46: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments Thanks!


message 47: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments I'm going to warn ya'll in advance. This story's a yawner. I don't recommend reading it at school. It will put you fast asleep. It had the same effect on me. That's why it took me so long to get it finished.


message 48: by M (last edited Dec 13, 2010 06:13PM) (new)

M | 11392 comments Where We Will Love, Then Fall Asleep
by M (about 1,300 words)

Follow me through leaves of gold
and red and yellow, whirlwind blown
into the air . . .

She had been killed when she had fallen from an apple tree. Jill Larsen, lithe, athletic, blue-eyed and freckled, with white-blonde hair. They had gone with Jack's father to pick apples. Walter Mills thought of Jill almost as a second daughter. Mills had converted an old printing press, designed cylindrical strainers, and every year made a barrel of cider. For many years, Jack and his sister Amy had accompanied their father in the battered pickup truck on these autumnal trips to gather apples, and most years Jack's girlfriend Jill had gone with them.

People had kidded them about their names, of course: Jack and Jill. They had loved each other since they were in the fourth grade, had gone through school together, studied together, been on the debate team together. "I can't even imagine my life without you in it," she had told him once. In his desk drawer were poems she had written him, and stories of hers, some of which had been published in prestigious magazines. She had planned to be a writer. Now she was dead and in the ground.

. . . Oh, follow me,
and I will lead you where the twilight
glows on birches silently . . .

The college had a psychologist on staff for students. "I've read the file." He looked across a scarred mahogany desk at Jack. "It was simply an unfortunate accident. There's nothing you could have done." Jack was so tired he could hardly concentrate on what he was being told. "Then why am I having these----" A squirming feeling in the pit of his stomach advised him it was better left unnamed. The office smelled of cigarette smoke and outdated psychology textbooks. "Guilt," the psychologist suggested. "When you're sleep deprived, your mind can cause you to see things that aren't there."

A few days after she had been buried, he had seen her in a late afternoon as he was returning to the dormitory from Dr. Halley's physics class. She had been standing amid leaves falling from a red oak, near the auditorium. She was watching him. A chill went through him when he saw her. Jill was dead. He had walked toward her, crossed the footbridge over the little creek behind the science building. She was dressed as she had been on that fateful Saturday, in blue jeans and an embroidered shirt with a tailored waist and a fly-away collar. Follow me, she seemed to say. As he had approached over the leaf-strewn hillside, she had turned and walked away. Losing sight of her, he had run. When he got to where she had stood, she was nowhere to be seen. Over the hill, beyond the boulevard, was the city park, its trees a spectacular display of autumn colors.

And when the autumn air grows cold,
we'll lie together there, alone
you forever holding me . . .

They had often studied in the park. The previous spring, in a blue afternoon, they had lain in the cool clover, talking of the life they would have together. "I want my children to be yours," he had said to her, "to have your eyes, your mind, that way you look at me that makes everything around me go into slow motion." Smiling, she had gazed into his face with her pale blue eyes. Their plan was to get married after they graduated. When he finished his degree in engineering, Jack would go to work at his father's firm. Jill was under contract with a publisher to finish a novel, and she had written outlines and partial drafts for several others.

. . . and watch the evening fall to night
of diamond skies and mystery . . .

That night, out of a terrifying dream, he had half awakened to find that he was not alone. The sense of her presence was almost palpable. But Jill couldn't be there. She was dead. He had watched in bright daylight at the cemetery as they had lowered the gleaming casket into the ground. Now, as he lay in the darkness of his dormitory room, fear coursed through him. Paralyzed with dread, he hid his head under the pillows. At last, he looked. A dark form, she stood in the light filtering in through the blinds. She was decayed, her fine blonde hair tangled, her eyes wells of blackness. She smelled of earth and dampness. In stark terror, he reached for the lamp switch. The sudden light was like a shock. Where she had stood, there was only the empty space between the bed and the door. Realizing that it had been a hallucination, he breathed a long but painful sigh, desolate from her remembered presence.

"I feel like my heart's been cut out," he had told his sister. Amy had never seen him cry. Walter Mills hadn't made cider that autumn, for the first time in so many years Jack couldn't remember the last time. Follow me . . . In his mind, he could see her standing on the hillside by the auditorium. In the safe lamplight, he had climbed out of bed and gone to the desk. In the drawer were typed manuscript pages, pages of poems, photographs he couldn't bring himself to look at. It wasn't there. He had found it tucked in a spiral notebook: a poem she had written recently. It had never been typed, but was in her fluid handwriting:

. . . Follow me to winding lanes
beneath great, arching white oak trees:
an old, deserted house back in
the weeds, in shades of dusk. Ah, dark
and fingerlike the shadows creep
across old roads, and windowpanes
of lonely sheds that no one sees . . .

She was waiting for him. As he read the last two lines, he realized where, and that his life was no longer his own. As he sat in class the next evening, all he could think was that he didn't want to die. For several days after that he came and went through the front doors of the science building. He spent his free hours in the cafeteria or library, among other people. When sleep was unavoidable, he slept with all the lights on. At length he became so distracted that the work he turned in made no sense. "You can't go on like this," his kindly calculus professor told him, shaking her head. Disheveled, he sat in her office after class, looking utterly lost. Through the window between bookshelves, he saw with a sinking feeling that the orange last light of day was on the leaves. Leaving the professor's office, unmindful, he went out the back doors.

Follow me through leaves of gold echoed in his mind. She was standing where he had seen her before. There was no use running away. He could feel her eyes on him as he crossed the footbridge. He could hear his shoes on the planks. "I never knew I could love anyone as much I love you," she had once confessed to him, her fingers interlacing with his. As he approached up the hill, she turned and began walking away. Follow me. He knew where she was going. He remembered the cool clover not far from the swings. Follow me. He thought briefly of his father and of Amy and felt a stinging of regret. He envisioned the wine press with its big, steel screw, and the circular wooden strainers. As he trudged through the leaves, he thought of the autumnal Jill had written, and of her beautiful handwriting.

Oh, follow me into the park,
where we will love, then fall asleep.


message 49: by Stephanie (last edited Dec 02, 2012 05:47PM) (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments The sentence, Losing sight of her momentarily, he had run, emplies that he'll see her again soon but as we find in the following sentence, When he got to where she had stood, she was nowhere to be seen, he doesn't. If I were you, I'd rephrase the first sentence, momentarily doesn't go very well with this part of the story.

In the third paragraph, when he's talking to the professor, I would suggest that you separate(sp?) Jack's and the other man's responses. You know, put them in different pragraphs. Like when people have a conversation.

Besides one or two punctuation errors and the above, that's it. Haha, I really liked your story, M. My favorite part was the poem though; it was absolutly beautiful and flowed so easily.


message 50: by M (new)

M | 11392 comments Wow! You got all the way through it! Bless you for reading it, and for your comments. In accordance with your suggestion, I removed momentarily (which had survived from an earlier draft). You're right also about the third paragraph. I kept it together because the story is so short and its unity precarious. I have a feeling you would make a very good editor, despite your protestations about grammar!

The poem is old. I wrote it one autumn night when I was in school and lived in a stadium. The title of it is "Dreams in Yellow and Gold." It was fun writing a story around it.


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